


Voyeur (Camera One)

by romanticalgirl



Series: polaroid [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take a picture. It'll last longer</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voyeur (Camera One)

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://mistress-mab.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mistress-mab.livejournal.com/)**mistress_mab** because she makes me write these things. I am her unwitting pawn.
> 
> Originally posted 5-5-05

The room is hot and thick and smells like need. House shifts in his chair, adjusting himself, letting his hand linger just long enough, just hard enough to make his cock throb. It’s torture, he thinks to himself as he pulls his hand away, and it turns him on.

He hasn’t had sex in a long time, his leg making the prospect difficult at best and his attitude making it impossible. He refuses to pay for the privilege, since he knows there’s no reason he should. He just needs to learn to keep his mouth shut and fuck in silence, but he’s never quite mastered the art. Besides, with his mouth shut, he misses half the fun.

Perhaps better than all of it, he thinks again as he grips the head of his cane, the phallic imagery not lost on him. Nothing is lost on him. He leans back in his chair and stretches his legs, the slight sensation of the hair rubbing against the hem of his boxers nearly enough to make him moan. He wants this too much, which is why he can’t let anyone know he wants it at all.

The sound is crappy, but it always is until the good parts. He doesn’t care about their conversation. He’s played it through in his head enough to know what’s being said. She’ll deny it, he’ll insist. He’ll explain that he won’t go through with it unless he’s right. She’ll cave in. He can almost hear the defeat in her voice. It turns him on, like most everything about her, but not as much as when she fights him, stands up to him. His cock gives another jolt at the thought and he closes his eyes for a second, but not long enough to miss anything.

He doesn’t want to miss this.

Wilson is kissing her, his mouth moving over hers. She’s too stilted, too stiff, and House lets himself gloat over the fact that she wouldn’t be with him. He shifts in his chair then sits up, pulling his worn, faded t-shirt over his head. He tosses it aside, growling low in his throat as he realizes what he’s missed – her acquiescence. Cameron’s mouth is open, her head tilted back slightly as Wilson’s hand strokes up her side.

Wilson’s a breast man and, ironically, House is a leg man. They suffer through each other’s foibles for the sake of the final moments, though he only contends it’s suffering in the details. In the moment, as Cameron gasps and Wilson’s fingers work the buttons free of her blouse, exposing the lacy slip of a bra for the short period of time before Wilson’s hand cover it, House is a breast man as well.

He licks his lips as Wilson’s hands caress and stroke the silky fabric. House wonders at the smell and taste and reaches down, rubbing himself for a moment before pulling his hand away and gripping the arm of the chair. Cameron’s head is tilted back and Wilson’s mouth is on her neck. Cameron’s hands are clenching and clutching at the air, fighting her conscience until Wilson pushed her bra up and cups her bare breast with her hand.

Her moan sounds weak and reedy over the microphone, but shoots straight to his cock nonetheless. Wilson’s muffled encouragement barely registers as her blouse slips off her shoulders. House takes a moment to marvel and the long line of her back, leaning forward in his chair. She has a mole on her left shoulder, just outside the strap of her bra. He files these away in his memory as Wilson pulls away from her, his free hand having unhooked her bra. It slips off her arms easily and he stares at her, sitting down on the bed and turning her, offering House a better view.

“Oh, fuck.” There’s an advantage to being a breast man, he thinks as Wilson reaches up to brush the tips of his fingers over Cameron’s dark, tight nipple. Her areola is nearly as pale as her breast as Wilson traces that too. He leans in, obstruction House’s view as he takes the nipple into his mouth. House knows better than to complain though as he lifts his gaze up to Cameron’s face. She’s staring directly at him, her eyes glazed slightly, her mouth open and her fingers threading through Wilson’s hair.

One of House’s hands leaves the chair and settles in his lap, outlining his cock through his boxers. It’s hard and aching, but he has rules and he’s never broken them, and he’s certainly not going to do it for Cameron. Wilson moves easily to her other breast and she lets out a soft moan and House’s hand reacts, the heel of it pressing down on his cock.

“Fuck.”

He punishes himself by curling both hands even tighter around the arms of the chair, his teeth grinding against each other as he squirms, the pulse of blood through his leg pushing past pain into pleasure as Wilson lays back on the bed, offering House a view of Cameron, her skirt slipping down her hips.

His nails dig into the wood of the chair as she wriggles out of a thong. He’s never going to look at her the same again, the strip of dark blue fabric almost more enticing that the dark thatch of hair it exposes as she pushes it down her legs.

Wilson mutters something House doesn’t catch as Cameron leans forward, her fingers no doubt undoing his slacks. House can see the top of her thigh-high stockings as she steps back to pull Wilson’s pants off, sees her smile of appreciation. House feels a surge of jealousy that he’s unaccustomed to as she continues talking, dialogue that House didn’t approve as she crawls up the bed, up Wilson.

His teeth clench together as Cameron smiles, bending her head so that her hair falls over her face. House hears the telltale crinkle of foil and hisses air from between his teeth, an exhalation of relief and anger that spurs him to release the arm of the chair and bury his hand beneath his boxers, wrapping it easily around his cock as Cameron’s head goes back, her muscles tensing as her body sinks down onto Wilson’s.

His hand is calloused from his cane and it reminds him vividly that Wilson is wrapped in the wet velvet of Cameron’s body and he’s not. He watches, his body artfully relaxed as every muscle coils with threads of jealousy and ire and desire, his hand moving in time with lazy thrust that Cameron has adopted as she rides Wilson’s body, her hands no doubt on his chest, her arms framing her breasts.

Her slow, rocking rhythm changes abruptly and House smiles, his hand adjusting to match the new speed, his mouth opening as if to taste the rough gasps of air that leave her parted lips as Wilson thrusts up inside her.

Cameron’s breath sputters, the muscles in her arms bunching as she grasps at Wilson. House’s hand focuses on the head of his cock, his leg throbbing harder than the thick shaft in his hand as Cameron’s voice seems to fill the room.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.” Wilson murmurs something through her cries and Cameron gasps, her words changing as her eyes open wide. “Oh. Greg.”

House doesn’t make a sound as he comes, though his mouth opens in a primal roar. His body shakes with release as he stares at Cameron, her head bent to hide her blush. House snaps off the monitor, unwilling to watch the apologies and explanations and whatever else follows in the aftermath.

His body aches and his leg is alive with pain. He swallows two vicodin dry and closes his eyes, sated and ready for sleep.


End file.
